Chapter 87

CHAPTER 87

LESS THAN AN hour later, the chopper touched ground at the edge of a grassy dog run in Lums Pond State Park, a few hundred yards from the street Holmes had pointed out.

Holmes yanked off his headset. He was already out of his seat by the time Poe shut the power off. The blades were still whirring, whipping the leaves on the nearby trees. Holmes dialed his mother’s number again, for probably the hundredth time since leaving Jersey. Still no answer.

As he put his phone in his pocket, he spotted a couple of curious dog walkers strolling toward them with their pooches. Poe pulled out his ID and waved them off.

“Police business!” he called out. “Stay clear.” Overhead, the blades were winding to a stop.

“Let’s go!” said Holmes. He took off at a run in the direction of his mother’s house.

By the time his partners caught up with him, he was already crouched by the hedge at the end of the driveway. The RAV4 still sat in front of the closed garage, as it had yesterday.

“The car?” asked Poe. “Maybe he cut the brake lines?”

Holmes shook his head. “Too mafioso. Paul is more refined than that.” Paul was a master craftsman of ingenious mishaps. In his hands, anything seemed possible.

Suddenly, Holmes spotted movement between the house and the garage. A hand reaching for a rake.

“There!” he whispered.

Holmes led the way down the length of hedge to the back of the garage. Poe and Marple stayed tight on his heels. Holmes saw a thin figure in a sun hat heading for the backyard garden.

“Thank God!” he muttered.

“That’s her?” Poe asked. “The mysterious Nina?”

“Stop!” Holmes called out. “Mother!” He ran toward her.

Nina stopped with her hand on the gate latch. She turned and squinted in the afternoon sun. “Brendan?” She tipped her sun hat back from her face. “Back for more closure?” She pulled a spade from the pocket of her overalls.

Holmes stepped through the gate, scanning the yard. “Mother, you need to come with me.”

Nina lowered herself carefully to her knees in front of a row of lavender mums. “Come where? Why?”

“You’re not safe here.”

Holmes turned as Poe and Marple walked up behind him.

“Mother, these are my partners,” said Holmes. “Auguste Poe and Margaret Marple.”

“Your son is right,” said Marple. “We need to get you out of here.”

Nina turned and squinted at both of them. She looked back at Holmes. “You mean the partners you’re quitting on?” She showed no signs of moving.

“Please,” said Marple. “We’re here to protect you.”

“Protect me? From who? From what?” Nina put down her spade and opened a burlap mulch bag. Suddenly, a thick ribbon shot out of the sack and whipped hard against her right forearm. Snake! Nina fell back in shock. “Christ Almighty!”

Holmes lunged and grabbed the coiling shape with one hand. When he jerked it away, he saw a small mark on his mother’s pale skin. Nina sat on the ground, stunned and breathing fast, holding her right arm up in front of her face.

The snake was about three feet long, thick in the middle and crossed with brown bands. Holmes dangled it by the tail and let the head drop down onto the dirt. He pressed his foot on the neck as the coils undulated furiously. Poe grabbed the spade and raised it for the kill.

“Stop!” Marple grabbed Poe’s hand. “It’s only a water snake.” She knelt next to Nina and touched her forearm gently. “Harmless,” said Marple. “Nonvenomous. Just aggressive when cornered.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small packet, ripped it open with her teeth, and rubbed an alcohol wipe over Nina’s forearm.

“See? Didn’t even break the skin.”

“You’re sure?” asked Holmes, still pressing the writhing snake beneath the sole of his shoe.

Marple nodded. “The only venomous snake in Delaware is the copperhead. It has hourglass bands.” She nodded toward the squirming reptile. “Look for yourself. These bands are wide, then tapered. Nerodia sipedon. Trust me, I’m a gardener. I know my serpents—and this one is only a threat to frogs and fish.”

Holmes lifted his toe and held the snake off the ground. He carried it across the garden and dropped it into the dirt, where it quickly slithered off. As he walked back, he saw Poe poking the burlap sack with the spade. He lifted it gingerly by the bottom and tipped it upside down. A thick pile of mulch fell out onto the ground—along with a white envelope with lettering on the front. Poe plucked it from the pile and handed it to Holmes.

The lettering on the envelope said: To Sherlock.

Holmes felt his mouth turn sour. He opened the flap and pulled out a single handwritten page. He scanned it quickly, his jaw tightening. Then he read it aloud.

Forgive the speckled band reference, Sherlock. Rudimentary, I know. A bit of misdirection. Your mother was never the target. She’s suffered enough by having you as a son. No, I’ve decided that my next crime needs to be much, much closer to the heart. Who says you can’t go home again?

Poe and Marple helped Nina to her feet. She brushed the dirt off her clothes. “Who wrote that?” she asked. “What does it mean?”

Holmes looked at his partners. “We need to go now,” he said. He stuffed the note into his pocket. “Oliver Paul is about to kill his own wife!”